


Coping.

by deffbreff



Series: RK1K [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Artist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Chubby Connor, Drug Use, EVERYONE'S HUMAN, Fluff and Angst, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Markus (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Possible smut, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Discovery, Top Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Weight Gain, non-android au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deffbreff/pseuds/deffbreff
Summary: Hank and Connor return to the DPD following two months recovery leave.Connor likes to pretend that he's perfectly capable of going back in the field. Spoiler alert: he's not.Meanwhile, artist, activist, and all-round great dude, Markus, is stirring up all sorts of fuzzy feelings.This is a rework of another fic I wrote earlier this year.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), RK1K, conkus
Series: RK1K [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025721
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. A Lemon Haze

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: This is a kink fic. While there is actual plot, a big part of it is gonna be chubby kink. Drug use will be generous, but will only include marijuana. Eventual descriptions of serial homicides. Possible smut, plenty of steamy encounters. You have been warned.

“Connor!” Hank called from the hall. He had no need to add “Hurry up” or “We’re going to be late”, as that ship had sailed long ago. He leaned back against the wall, letting it take his weight, and let out an exasperated breath. All he’d wanted was a quiet morning to chat utter rubbish with Connor on the couch, watching bad TV. Instead, he received a call about a B&E. And he had to show up and collect the paperwork. It’d be his first job to “ease him back in” Fowler had said.    
On top of that inconvenience, Connor had disappeared into the bathroom and hadn’t emerged once in the thirty minutes following. Hank of course, would have to take the heat for their lateness. Connor would want to be stuck in the U-bend to warrant this delay.    
Hank thought for a second and decided that, in fact, Connor had better not be stuck in the U-bend. Having to call a plumber would be the cherry on top. 

Hank’s internal monologue was interrupted from it’s incessant raging by the sound of Connor shuffling around.   
“Are you done yet?” Hank’s hopefulness beamed like a fog light.   
“Uh- Not quite-” Connor managed to respond. There was a thump from within.    
“Is everything okay?” A question he should’ve asked half an hour ago when he realised a few seconds of freshening up was evolving into something much more sinister.   
“Yes! Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Connor blurted out, with far too much haste and volume to avoid raising suspicion.    
“Fuck me.” Hank groaned, “Mind telling me what exactly you’re up to in there?”

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom, Connor was wrestling himself into a pair of jeans. He wasn’t an idiot- he knew that two weeks prior when he’d gone out for Hank’s birthday dinner, he’d barely managed to squeeze into aforementioned jeans, and the blame wasn’t to be pushed on Hank’s laundry skills. Connor eyed himself up in the mirror. He had realised that it was a lost cause as soon as the denim had caught on his thighs- half an hour ago- but for some reason, he decided that he had to get into them, and he wasn’t giving in until he had succeeded.    
It was the button that was the main problem. Somehow he’d squeezed them over his thighs, but there were a solid four inches between the button and the hole and the waistband was not budging. Logic dictated he give up and borrow something of Hank’s, but it wasn’t that simple. Shame made him a little weak in the knees, suggested denial, and caused the twist in his gut when he considered revealing that his pants no longer fit him to his housemate.    
Hank thumped on the door and grumbled again. 

Connor let go of the stubborn jean flaps and pushed his hair out of his face. He gripped the sink with both hands and stared at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed, his chest was rising and falling much too quickly for someone who’d just put jeans on. He pawed at his face, poking and prodding his cheeks, and the more recently developed fleshiness below his chin. His hand wandered down his naked torso, stopping at the soft curve of his stomach. He pressed a finger into the new padding there.    
Connor hesitated, before pinching it experimentally. He felt a pang low in his abdomen.  _ Shame _ .   
Hank slammed a fist on the door, startling Connor to action.    
In a last-ditch attempt to look presentable, he hooked a rubber band through the hole on his jeans and around the button. He considered wearing a belt to hide it, but knew it’d be unnecessary. His jeans needed no assistance in staying up. Instead, he left his shirt untucked, and although it covered up the makeshift fastener, it did nothing to disguise the soft belly blooming over his waistband. Connor ran a hand down the front of his shirt to smooth it out, palm lingering on his muffin-top, face deepening to a blush.    
Looking back at himself in the mirror, he took a deep breath and whispered to himself;   
“It’s fine, it’s only a couple of pounds, it’ll be gone again in no time.” 

Connor burst out of the bathroom suddenly, causing a very disgruntled and impatient Hank to jump back in fright.    
“About time.” Hank grumbled.   
“Sorry.” Connor said hurriedly, but offered no explanation. Hank wasn’t having any of it.    
They were rushing to the car when Hank spoke up.   
“So you go and spend the guts of an hour in the bathroom, guarantee me a lecture from Fowler, and come out looking exactly the same as you do every other fucking day.” He punctuated with a sigh.   
“I- I’m sorry Hank.” Connor subtly curled in on himself.   
“I know that. I just want to know what on God’s green earth took forty minutes. Was it deciding to leave your shirt untucked? I swear-”    
Connor shrank back into the seat a little more. He couldn’t even conjure up an acceptable lie. Hank’s stare was burning holes through him.   
“I was having what you’d call ‘a moment’. I shouldn’t have let myself fester in it like that. I’ll try not to let it happen again.” Technically not a lie, just omission of certain aspects. The most effective cover-up.   
Connor loosened as Hank’s gaze softened. Hank nodded and they drove to work in companionable silence.

The photos of the break-in were nothing spectacular. Connor browsed through the file while Hank, of course, took the heat from Fowler. It was a messy job- glass and fingerprints everywhere. It was a wonder the perp didn’t just turn himself in, Connor thought, amused. If he were a criminal, he’d do a better job than this one.    
As Fowler was seeing Hank out of his office, he shot Connor a side-eye. Whether it was spurred on by him simply returning to work, if it was the untucked shirt, or if it were the obvious twenty pounds that Connor had dubbed “a few”, he was unsure, and on-edge. 

“I’ve gotta pull up a few more files that could be related to this amateur B&E. Might be a few minutes. You alright to hang tight for a while?” Hank said with ease, as if Gavin Reed wasn’t returning from patrol that very moment.    
“Yeah, fine.” Connor nodded. He was slipping into a panic as he spoke, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be even more of a nuisance than he had already been that day.   
Connor just stood there after Hank walked off, leaning against his desk, in an attempt at nonchalance. Gavin wandered over with an evil look in his beady eyes. As if he could smell the fear. 

“Two months leave.” Gavin seethed.   
“What about it?” Connor’s response was innocent, contradicting the hammering in his chest and the tremble in his hands. It prompted Gavin to switch up his tactic.    
“It’s obviously been treating you well.”    
Connor avoided making eye-contact, and was suddenly very interested in the potted plant on Hank’s desk.    
“Might want to tuck your shirt in. First day back ‘n all, you don’t wanna be giving the wrong impression, right?”    
Connor could feel the tips of his ears burning, and fought valiantly to keep his breathing in check.    
“Actually- upon reevaluation, maybe it’s best you don’t look like a stuffed sausage wearing a cockring in the office.”    
“Go away.” Connor tried to sound assertive, but his voice betrayed him with a crack.    
Gavin gave a hearty chuckle.   
“Nah, I don’t think I will.” 

Hank emerged from the filing room in the nick of time. If Connor had been left to fend off Gavin by himself for a second longer, he may have done something regrettable. The frontrunners for “something regrettable” being crying or having a panic attack (or quite possibly both).  
Gavin retreated as Hank approached, a thick wad of folders under his arm. He dropped the paperwork into a drawer at his desk before turning to Connor.    
“Thank Christ that’s over.” Hank announced, “I don’t miss that dusty room at all.”    
Connor smiled half-heartedly, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest and the tremble of his hands.    
“Let’s get outta here and watch some trashy TV.” Hank clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder cheerfully.

Hank pulled up at the store. Connor was staring blankly out of the window, only realising they’d stopped when Hank gave him a nudge.    
“Connor, you good?”    
Connor nodded, blinking himself out of his daze.    
“I’m gonna run in and get some bits, you want anything?”    
“I’m fine, thanks.”    
“If you’re sure.” Hank shrugged and got out of the car. As soon as he was out of view, Connor dug through his jacket pockets with fervour. First came his lighter, then came a very pocket-squashed joint. He pinched it and tried to smooth it out a little before exiting the car and hiding himself round the back of the store. The first drag brought with it relief, the last securing tranquility.    
Smoking weed was something that had begun as a cheeky addition to a night out, but had become more of a habit during his recovery leave. It was as much a part of his day as his cup of morning coffee. It was another thing he’d promised himself he’d get in check once he got back to work. Drugs and detective work weren’t exactly the power couple of the year, after all. 

Connor got back into the car just in time to catch his phone buzzing in a text. He didn’t check it immediately- instead he chose to bask in the relaxed feeling that was pouring over him like warm honey and fine-tuning his senses to all the pleasantries that would usually hide in the long shadows of anxiety. He flicked on the radio and turned it up. A happy pop song was airing; sunny vocals flowed through the car, and a baseline bounced cheerily forth to thrum in his bones.   
With a smile on his face, he unlocked his phone to see a text from Markus.   
“Been a while, lunch?” Finished with a little smiling emoji. Connor replied immediately.    
“Sure! When and where?”   
“Meet @ my studio, I’ll be out in 15 mins if that suits you.”    
“See you there” Connor pressed send and squirmed giddily in his seat. If he weren’t so high, he’d start worrying about his outfit, but he was, so instead he worried about that. He spotted Hank out of the corner of his eye and steeled himself for the interaction ahead of him. 

Connor fiddled with the hem of his jacket, jumping slightly as Hank slammed the trunk of the car shut. As soon as Hank had plopped himself into the driver’s seat, he turned to Connor;   
“Alright, what is it?”

Connor sat on the steps leading down from the block of studios, fiddling with the pair of sunglasses he’d pocketed from Hank’s car “just in case”, somehow even higher than he’d been in the passenger seat ten minutes ago. His eyes darted quickly between passing faces. He giggled at the back of a police car that drove by. Before he could fixate on how baked he was again, a strong hand rested on his shoulder.    
“Hey.” Markus sat down on the step beside him and turned his shoulder-pat into a tight one-armed hug.    
Connor was starstruck for a moment, staring at Markus with his mouth ajar for far too long. It was when Markus brought his brow down into a furrow that Connor managed to wheeze out a “Hello”, and even then it took an additional few seconds to move his gaze elsewhere.   
“Sorry, had a weird morning, still a little out of it.” Connor stumbled over an apology that hardly needed to be made.   
“Take it easy.” Markus told him in that velvetine, warm voice that could charm the stars out of the sky.   
“I can’t make any promises. Detroit needs it’s finest detective alert and ready at all times.”    
“He’ll be ready when he’s ready. For now he’s coming to check out the cute new cafe down the street with me.”   
“He’d best hurry up then, he’s hungry.” 

A light chuckle floated from Markus’ lips, his mismatched eyes sparkled in the fresh Autumn sun, his hand extended for Connor to take as he stood, ever the gentleman. And if Connor thought, for even a heartbeat, that Markus’ fingers lingered, as if expecting to be held as they walked, then he’d blame it on the drugs.   
The café wasn’t bursting with activity. Connor didn’t know if that was a good thing. He assured himself that it was, and let Markus lead him to a table by the window where they could watch the city pass by. 

A pretty waitress hovered by their table. Connor shifted in his seat and buried his face in the menu. She made him nervous.   
“Anything catch your eye?” Connor peered over the top of the menu to see Markus’ sparkling smile beaming back at him.    
“Uh, I’m not sure. What’re you getting?” Connor asked, glancing down at the menu that Markus had laid face down and rested his clasped hands on.    
“The quality of a café is measured by their sustainably sourced avocado toast.” Markus imparted with a wise nod and a toothy grin.    
“Oh my god you are such a hipster,” Connor rolled his eyes. Markus offered a cheeky wink with a shrug- in agreement or discredit was undisclosed.    
“This menu hurts my head. What even is quinoa?” Connor groaned.    
“You’d probably like it.” Markus told him.    
“That’s it. I’m gonna get something really boring and you’re gonna laugh at me through your fancy avocados and I’m okay with that.”    
The waitress, who had been hovering at an awkward distance, approached the table and took their orders. For Markus, the aforementioned avocado toast and a jasmine tea (that Connor would later squint at and accuse of being a witch’s potion). For Connor, a green pesto and chicken wrap, and a coffee- sweet with extra cream. 

Connor looked sheepish, unsure of what to do with his hands now that he no longer had the menu.    
“What’ve you been up to lately?” Markus posed the question, and sat his head on his hands and his elbows on the table.    
“Honestly? Hardly anything. The past couple months of my life have been a montage of stupidly late breakfasts and hours sunk into gaming. You don’t want to hear about me lazing around. Tell me what you’ve been doing. Any new projects coming up?”    
“I envy you- I’d love to do nothing for even a weekend,” Markus hammed up a wistful sigh, “But project-wise, I’ve just finished up a protest piece, and now I have to write a speech for the big public reveal. It’s gonna be an absolute nightmare.”    
“Tell me about the piece.”    
“You’ll have to come to the show, no previews,” Markus looked devious, “It’s scheduled to happen next Friday, I’ll text you more details as they come.”    
“I wouldn’t miss it.” 

The pretty waitress punctuated their conversation with their lunch order. She said something cheery about enjoying their meal as she left them.    
“It’s make-or-break now.” Markus said, tone grave, grinding pepper on his avocado.    
“Come on, avocado toast can’t taste that different between places.”    
“You’d be surprised. I went to this place before that put beans in it.  _ Beans _ , Connor. It was revolutionary.”   
“Big words coming from you.” Connor quipped, and started to nibble on his wrap.    
“Cheeky.” Markus feigned hurt, waving a sachet of brown sugar at him. 

Conversation flowed freely for the duration of their lunch “not-date”, though by the time they had paid the bill, tipped the waitress, and were on the way to the park for a walk, Connor was painfully aware of his rubber band fix-up. However, he was distracted quite successfully by a citrus-scented cloud surrounding his face. When the smog cleared, Connor did  _ not  _ look impressed, and Markus could only wheeze at him.    
“Seriously? You’re vaping on me now?” Connor tutted loudly.    
“Who are you- the fun police?” Markus mumbled out through another lungful of vapor.   
“It is in the job description.”    
Markus snorted through a lemon haze.    
  
Connor was having so much fun giggling at strangers on a park bench with Markus, that he almost didn’t notice the evening sky rolling in, or the steady comedown that dropped him softly into sober’s lap.   
Two pairs of hands rested on their respective knees, twitching to reach out and intertwine, though neither Markus nor Connor had the confidence to make it happen.


	2. Cotton Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really dodgily formatted- the paragraph spacing/breaks are all over the place.  
> I'll fix it at a later date, I just wanted to get the update out there for anyone that has been withering away waiting for it :')

Connor’s mouth was dry as he made his way to the store on Tuesday. It wasn’t that he disliked shopping- he was actually quite partial to a bit of retail therapy- but rather, he was going  _ alone _ . Whether consciously or not, he’d made a substantial effort to remain in company over his period of recovery leave, and was in no hurry to break away from that.    
Despite his nerves, he’d abstained from getting high that afternoon, and in preparation for the inevitable trying on of clothes, he’d eaten a light breakfast. The cab drove over a pothole. Connor regretted both decisions. He shrunk back into his seat, avoiding the windows. He fiddled with the cuffs on his shirt sleeves in an attempt to distract himself, from both the overwhelming feeling of dread, and the dull ache of hunger that had taken up residence under his diaphragm. 

Connor ended up texting Markus as the cab neared the shopping centre. The response was quick and concise, and by the time he was getting out of the cab and paying the driverless vehicle, Markus was on the other end of the line to keep him company. 

A part of him was telling him to stop being a nuisance- that Markus had been busy and didn’t have time for this. Another part of him knew that this was the only way he was going to get the task done. Both parts were hushed as Markus started talking about the pigeon on his windowsill. It was silly, Connor was aware, but it was working. 

Connor was browsing racks of jeans. A very mundane thing to be doing. Markus however, was rapt. He had been preparing a canvas, but then learnt that Connor was clothes shopping, so the painting could wait. 

Connor grabbed a pair of 32s, a couple of pairs of 34s, and a few shirts a size up before making a beeline for the changing rooms. The shirts were fine. The pair of 32s however, were very not fine, and neither was Connor. He wrestled with the jeans, relenting quite early and sulkily pulling on the 34s. Meanwhile, Markus could hear everything over the phone. Growing increasingly flustered, he shifted in his seat and tried to rationalise the way his body was reacting. 

Mortified, Connor left the store with his shirts, and two pairs of jeans in a 36. Markus was relieved to not be privy to these numbers, lest he say or do something embarrassing. He didn’t know what had come over him that day.    
  


“What’s next on the agenda?” Markus asked.    
“Gonna stop at the grocery store on the way home, and then I’m free for the day.”    
“Any idea what you’ll do later?” Markus was talking before his brain had given him the all-clear and he was really hoping it wasn’t steering him towards disaster.    
“Smoke weed and eat till I can’t move.” Had been what Connor intended to do with his evening, but instead he said;   
“I don’t know, really. Probably nothing interesting. I’m guessing you’ll be working on your speech?”    
“Sadly you’ve guessed it,” Markus sighed, refraining from saying something suggestive. Markus pencilled a cold shower into his schedule, due as soon as he got off this call. 

Connor’s trip to the grocery store was going perfectly, up until he approached the checkout counter. Gavin sidled up behind him in the queue. He internalised a groan and stared straight ahead, hoping not to attract attention. He had the fleeting thought of hanging up on Markus to avoid that conversation. 

“I see you took my advice then.” Gavin said, smug.    
Connor blinked and didn’t turn to respond. He focused on the movement of the queue and how quickly he could escape.

“Not very talkative today, are we?”    
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Connor snapped, valiant in his fight to keep his tone even.    
“Feisty,” Gavin winked, “but yes, I do. Here. Getting groceries, if that’s not a crime.”    
Connor ignored him.    
“What’ve you been getting up to these past weeks? Y’know, besides getting fat.”    
Connor bristled, skin tingling with embarrassment.    
“You know what? You’re right. I’ve been sitting on my ass and doing nothing but stuff my face. Bravo, great quip. I’m assuming you’ve been doing what you usually do. Being the biggest dickhead in the DPD.” Connor scoffed.    
He had caught Gavin off-guard, given himself at least a few minutes of peace. 

  
He looked over at the selection of sweets by the till, and contemplated buying some. It wasn’t like he needed them, after all, he was meant to be watching his intake, but he was starving. He thought about the 36s in the bag.

Connor left the store with a bag full of chocolate. Gavin passed him, jostling the bag as he went.    
“Watch it detective,” he wagged a finger, “I’m sure your artsy boyfriend won’t appreciate you blowing up on him.” Gavin finished with a wry smirk.    
Connor had several things he’d like to say to him, but all he managed to choke out was;   
“Go away.”    
  


Thoroughly humiliated, Connor abruptly ended the call with Markus, jumped in a cab, and tore through the chocolate on the drive home. 

Markus didn’t notice immediately that the call had been cut off. Overhearing Connor’s exchange with Gavin had pushed him over the edge, so Markus had muted the call and gave himself some attention. It was messy and desperate, and completely inappropriate when he came shouting Connor’s name, but if he’d tried to hold it in any longer he may have combusted. After cleaning himself up, and checking his phone to discover the call had ended, Markus was glad to an extent. He wouldn’t have to explain why he disappeared, and therefore would never be held accountable for having a wank over one of his best friends.    
He’d check up on Connor shortly, but first, he’d take that cold shower and reflect on what he’d just done. 

Hank was immersed in a vintage car show on TV upon Connor’s return home. He entered quietly, putting away his clothes with discretion, before heading back out to bother Hank.    
“How was your trip out?” Hank asked.   
“Fine.” Connor shrugged. He wouldn’t mention that he had to call Markus to get through it, and definitely was not keen on bringing up the altercation in the grocery store. The latter still had him on edge.    
“You sure?” Hank wasn’t born yesterday, and could tell when something was amiss.    
“Yep. It was a very uneventful afternoon.”    
Hank hummed with skepticism, but Connor was quick to swoop in with a change of subject.    
  


“Have you had lunch yet?” He asked, looking at Hank, then the kitchen, and at Hank again.    
“I haven’t. Looks like you have though,” Hank nodded, playful, at a smear of chocolate on Connor’s face. Connor wiped it off with the back of his hand and averted his eyes.    
“Just grabbed a snack on the way home.” he lied.    
“I’ll whip something up shortly.” Hank said as he turned his attention back to the television. A British man was talking about an old black chevy as Connor headed for the bathroom.    
  


Connor arrived in the kitchen to be greeted by a plate of sandwiches. Technically, he wasn’t hungry. His binge in the cab had been plenty, but that wasn’t going to stop him from demolishing the pile of ham and cheese currently sitting on the table. 

Hank ate his sandwiches in front of the TV, leaving Connor to get on with his, with only Sumo as witness. 

And get on with it he did. Connor ate till the tightness in his stomach distracted him from the hollow sensation in his chest. Until the familiar cramps of overeating took his mind off of all the ugly feelings that’d bombarded him earlier that day. It might have been a mistake for him to have stayed in the jeans he’d left the house in.    
With substantially more effort than it should’ve required, Connor dragged himself into his room and sat at the desk. He struggled with his elastic-band getup for a moment until it popped open and gave him some much-needed relief. He ran his fingers over the angry red indents left behind by his outgrown jeans. His hands crept up, deftly undoing his shirt buttons. He lingered over his belly button, tracing a tentative circle. With the other hand, he stroked a little higher, keeping his touch gentle, curious. 

Connor’s body responded to the contact eagerly- despite his apprehension, he swallowed his pride and let himself fall into the feeling. Using both hands, he palmed his stomach with a new vigour. Small sighs escaped his lips. A sudden burp took him by surprise, but if any guilt tried to manifest, it was immediately nullified by how good he felt in that moment. 

That evening, after the guilt caught up to Connor in the form of a light dinner, Hank left him to his own devices. Connor watched as Hank’s car turned the corner at the end of the street before scurrying to his bedroom to roll. Taking into account his abstinence during the earlier hours of the day, he was generous with this joint. Zoot rolled, he leant back in his chair and checked his phone to discover several text messages from Markus. As the timestamps grew later, the tone became mountingly concerned. Connor apologised for disappearing, with the convenient excuse of being busy. Again, not a lie, just an omission of certain aspects. Connor had become quite fond of that recently. Markus replied as Connor was taking the first toke of his zoot. 

They quickly reverted to a playful back-and-forth as Connor smoked his way to relaxation. Connor felt a little guilty; as if he was lying to Markus somehow. The irony of this, of course, was that Markus was tooting away on his vape pen, halfway through a painting that he’d started earlier after smoking a bowl. If he was being honest, he’d been way too high after it, and had been paranoid as hell; if his frantic text messages to Connor were anything to go by. 

Upon reentering the house, Connor made a beeline for the kitchen to grab snacks and sat himself down in front of the TV to fire up the PS4. He tore into a packet of cookies and replied to Markus before getting lost in his game. 

As he played, his hand wandered mindlessly to the pile of snacks he’d acquired, only realising how much he’d eaten, and how  _ full  _ he was, when his hand hit the bottom of the last empty chip bag. He set the controller down and ran both hands down his stuffed stomach, and the stretched t-shirt that struggled to cover it. His fingers tingled as they sank into the softer, flabbier part of his stomach, just below his belly button. Connor brushed it off with a forced chuckle, telling himself something about indica strains. At that moment, Hank came in, a little tipsy, with a big dopey grin on his face. Connor’s hands had never moved so fast; and only to avoid implication for something he wasn’t quite able to put a finger on himself.    
  


“How’re you doin’? What’ve you been up to while I’ve been out?” Hank called out to him from the kitchen. Connor heard the tap running as he thought about what he was supposed to say.    
“I’m fine. I haven’t done much. It’s not been a very productive day for me.” Connor replied, tone awkwardly even.   
Hank appeared to Connor’s left with a glass of water in hand.    
“Did you cook anything?” Hank gave Connor’s middle a pointed glance, though Connor missed it.    
“No, but I’ve been snacking.”    
“I knew you’d be hungry. You ate like a bird at dinner.” Hank scoffed at him, playful. 

Connor could only shrug.    
“Move over and give me the remote.” Hank said, stern but lilted. He planted a playful slap on Connor’s belly, prompting, and Connor felt his face turn scarlet as he moved himself.    
“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” Connor said quickly, and made a swift exit. 

Stuffed docile, and still pretty high, Connor plopped himself on his bed and set about giving himself a belly rub. He groaned, melting into the touch, his hands almost working of their own accord. He imagined how it would feel to have somebody else’s hands kneading the soft flesh. Under any other circumstances, he’d be mortified at the idea of somebody even seeing him like this, let alone touching him. But, caught up in the moment, the thought hardly affected him as his right hand crept underneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. His mind supplied an image of Markus- perfect, golden, and saintly- as heat pooled deep in his abdomen. The guilt would hit him later, after he got himself off.    
He squeezed his eyes shut as he came; Markus burned into the backs of his eyelids. To thoughts of the artist’s hands- firm yet gentle, rough from work but not calloused. Thoughts of his sparkling mismatched eyes- sharp yet kind, brimming with passion. His lips- rosy and pliant, articulating profound philosophies and sweet nothings. 

It took Connor a while to get a handle on himself and his reverie before he allowed himself to fall into a dream-filled slumber.


End file.
